


nothing safe is worth the drive

by wardo_wedidit



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Sex, Autumn, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Cars, Diners, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hiking, House Hunting, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Married Life, Rimming, Sex in a Car, Tenderness, Weekend Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 15:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19478875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: Five (tender) moments in cars we didn't get to see between David and Patrick, and one we did.





	nothing safe is worth the drive

**Author's Note:**

> This is maybe the fastest thing I've written for this fandom. Probably not a big surprise, given all my feelings about Taylor Swift songs, queerness, and small town car experiences. 
> 
> Thank you to all my fandom friends who kindly talked to me about the details of this, whether it was crying over liminal spaces or contemplating Patrick's opinions on Dolly Parton. I love you all! 
> 
> Title from... well, [who else](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cOqgarjuRc).

1.

Patrick is the kind of guy who tries his very hardest to keep to his word. It means a lot to him, that people know he’s someone they can depend on, someone who’s capable, someone who thinks through things and makes solid decisions and doesn’t change his mind on a whim.

He’s been dating David Rose for just a few weeks, but he finds that this quality is already being tested. Surprisingly, Patrick’s not sure he cares.

“But you _said_ ,” David insists, as Patrick pulls off to the side of the road on their way home from dinner in Elmdale. David clearly isn’t afraid to call him out on shit, even though he’s grinning and fumbling for the lever to recline his seat. “You were the one who said ‘no fooling around in the car, David,’ when I suggested, weeks ago—”

Patrick pulls a face as he climbs awkwardly into David’s lap, straddling his thighs. “Yeah, that was back when I had hope that it wouldn’t be this hard to find somewhere to fool around.” He’s felt more sexually frustrated than he has his whole life in these past couple weeks, even more than when he was a teenager. David has suggested plenty of solutions, and Patrick has said over and over again _no, this is probably for the best, we probably need to go slow._

But tonight, David had hooked his foot around Patrick’s under the table and smiled at him in this knowing, smirking kind of way when Patrick ordered dessert, and Patrick had thought, _okay, enough._

“Mm,” David agrees, nodding, and he’s trying to sound sympathetic but Patrick can see the way his lips are pressed together to try and hide the force of his happiness. He seems very pleased to have Patrick in his lap, running his palms up Patrick’s slacks slowly, teasingly. Patrick’s whole focus seems narrowed to where David’s thumb is caressing maddeningly up and down along the inside of his thigh, reaching a little bit higher every time. Patrick shivers. “You underestimated the power of Schitt’s Creek.”

That startles Patrick into a laugh. “What do you mean?”

David rolls his eyes, like he’s already regretting he said it. “This town. It just—it takes all your plans, and then laughs and throws them back in your face.”

It’s a heavy statement to make, but David’s still trying too hard not to smile, so Patrick chooses to take it in the spirit of the moment. And furthermore, it’s not untrue. Patrick had come here to work in business licensing, he’d come here because he didn’t know or care about anyone in Schitt’s Creek, he’d come here to get his head on straight about Rachel. Now he’s a partner in the store, he knows everyone in town, and he’s falling hard and fast for David Rose.

“Yeah, David,” he agrees, leaning in and smiling as he thumbs tenderly over David’s cheekbone. “It does.”

The moment seems to stretch out like taffy. He tries to catch every little detail he can because he’s still collecting them: the way David’s cheek dimples a little, the happy crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The quiet catch in his breath just a fraction of a second before their lips touch.

Patrick tries to be sweet, to kiss him as gently and innocently as he can at first. Just a happy, comfortable press of lips, because David is cute and the way his face had gone shocked and delighted when Patrick pulled over was precious. He worries about his own inexperience a lot of the time, but sometimes he’s amazed at the things David finds exciting, that he could possibly be so easy to please. Patrick’s been on his fair share of dates, but no one has ever startled and then _melted_ the way David had when Patrick had taken his hand walking into the restaurant, flushed happily when Patrick held the door open for him.

Anyway, it’s nice; it’s a good kiss and David is smiling into it, but then he takes a breath and parts his lips and it deepens. This is part of the problem. Patrick always has these _plans_ : plans to take it slow and be a gentleman and kiss David like they have all the time in the world, unhurried, lazy. But time feels different with David—days when they’re in the store together pass so quickly Patrick feels like they’re slipping through his fingers. Other times, little moments seem to stretch out, like they’re trapped in amber. Tonight it’s the latter; he feels like they’re making out for just a few minutes, but when he’s fumbling David’s sweater and t-shirt off Patrick realizes it’s actually been twenty. He can feel they’re both hard and has to pull away to murmur a fervent “ _Fuck._ ”

“Too much?” David winces, looking apologetic.

“No,” Patrick says immediately, surprised. “No, David, I—I want this. I want you now.”

David’s eyebrows jump up slightly but the rest of his face remains neutral, impartial, and Patrick feels so fond of him in that second he can’t even breathe. “I really do,” he repeats.

“Okay,” David murmurs back, tone still blank.

“But I don’t—I don’t have anything, I’m not prepared, I don’t have any like, lotion, or—”

“Oh,” David says, blush blooming under his cheeks, wincing a little. “Um, I don’t need—I tend to get—”

And Patrick had noticed before, that night at Stevie’s. But they had been going slow, making out and grinding against each other for a while and then David had seemed so… into touching him, really teased him and dragged it out, so when David had finally peeled out of his fancy underwear and been so wet, Patrick had thought maybe it was just a product of all the foreplay.

“It’s really hot,” he says, the words coming out all at once, breathless. David’s face goes kind of helpless, like he maybe doesn’t fully believe him but is also unable to resist being into it at the same time. Patrick clears his throat. “I, um. I noticed, I liked it.”

“Oh,” David says again, the tone different this time, all breathy and beautiful. His eyes are a little bit darker, pupils blown, low-lidded, lashes fluttering over his skin as he watches Patrick fumble with the button and zip of his jeans. His voice still comes out quiet but rushed, like he wants to get the words out as fast as possible. “I just wanted to warn you because, because I know this is your first time and I didn’t want you to be surprised and—”

“David,” Patrick says, trying to keep his voice steady even though he wants this so badly that it’s hard to sound firm like he wants. “I’ve been dying to touch you.”

That first night at Stevie’s he’d wanted to so much, but he’d also been a little bit nervous and jittery after running into _Jake_ , who was tall and rugged-looking and kissed David on the mouth to say hello. But he hadn’t ended up getting a chance anyway, because after he’d come, David had flopped onto his back and touched himself, eyes closed and mouth slack, and it was all Patrick could do to watch, breathless, and kiss David when he begged for it.

Now, David squeezes his eyes shut the way he does when he’s overwhelmed and lets his head fall back against the headrest, pressing his lips together. “Okay,” he says, the most fragile little murmur, and then Patrick is moving and touching him and David lets out the most beautiful whine.

Patrick’s eyes flick up at him, a pleased smile on his face as the corners of David’s mouth tip up a little, a shy smile peeking out from the desperation in his face. Then Patrick’s looking down at David’s cock in his hand again, watching his thumb move slowly over the head, spreading the wetness around. He moves experimentally, a little inexpertly because the angle is different, doing it to someone else. He goes slow, savoring the way David cants his hips up a little bit, already so eager for it.

“Patrick,” he gasps, voice the most coarse, gorgeous thing. “I—fuck, I need you to—”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, still hypnotized by the look, the feel of touching him. David’s skin is warm and soft and he moves more purposefully now, trying for a rhythm. “Like this, is this—”

“ _Yes_ ,” David groans, his hips jumping up again. “Like that, do me just like that, please—”

“God, you sound so good,” Patrick says, leaning in so he can kiss over David’s pulse, nip at the lobe of his ear. David’s voice is stripped raw, colored with need, and Patrick thinks that alone is doing it for him. He’d tried phone sex with Rachel once and hadn’t understood the appeal, couldn’t get into it, had lied about coming… but god, he thinks he could get off on it now, makes a mental note to ask David later if they can try it sometime.

“Fuck, Patrick,” he moans, reaching up to rake his nails through the short hairs at the back of Patrick’s neck. Patrick can’t believe how undone he is already, just from some kissing and some fumbling around and less than five minutes of Patrick’s touch. He twists his wrist sharply, just so, and David lets out a surprised, delighted cry that makes Patrick grin, pressing his smile into David’s skin happily.

“I’ve always been a fast learner,” he murmurs, teasing, and David makes a noise like he’s dying.

“You’re,” David pants, “You’re the _worst_ —”

“Am I?” Patrick asks, half a laugh, pulling back to see David’s face. It’s worth it, the way his face is caught between sex and a laugh. It makes something light and sparkling happen in Patrick’s chest. It’s a new feeling during sex, this… relaxation, this giddiness.

“You _are_ ,” he insists, his voice bright, running his hands down Patrick’s back and fumbling under his button-down, untucking his shirt to scrape his nails across Patrick’s lower back. Patrick arches into the touch, letting out a little whimper at the sharp sensation of it, the way David seems to want to mark him up.

“David,” Patrick hisses, jerking him faster now, fast enough that it makes David bite his lip into the kiss, just this side of painful, stinging and perfect. “I wanna make you come, David, tell me—”

“More, I need more,” he answers immediately, tipping forward slightly so he can bury his face in Patrick’s shoulder but also thrust his hips up into the touch, sloppy but rhythmic. “Fuck— _fuck_ , oh my god, yes, Patrick, yes—”

It only takes another minute or two once he starts doing that for him to spill over Patrick’s hand. He comes with a surprised, desperate cry, eyes flying open and clutching at Patrick’s arms. Patrick can feel the bite of his nails through the thin fabric of his button down and thrills. Just another mark on him from David Rose.

“Jesus christ,” David sighs when he’s come down enough to speak again, when he’s caught his breath and relaxed bonelessly in the passenger seat. His eyes wander up to Patrick’s face and Patrick feels transfixed, gaze darting back and forth between David’s come on his fingers and the pure relief on David’s face.

He regards his fingers closely. As good as that was, as perfect and right and satisfying it felt to touch David after so long, he still wants more. Any part of David he can get. He lifts his index finger, sucking it tentatively into his mouth, and David groans.

It’s not bad. He didn’t know for sure that he would, but god, Patrick loves tasting David: the salt and the bitterness and the musk of it, so stupidly hot and so very David. And if the way he’s being watched is any indication, David seems to find it pretty hot too.

He cleans his fingers off completely and then wipes them on his pant leg, and David’s head thunks back against the headrest again. He hides his face in his hands, moaning a little, and Patrick laughs.

“Doing okay?”

“How dare you,” David replies, but there’s no heat to it at all and he’s peeking out from between hs fingers. “I can’t believe you did that, I can’t believe that was your first time, god. Come here, c’mere,” he says, pulling Patrick closer and kissing him.

There isn’t a lot of heat to the kisses this time. Right now they feel soft and gentle, a little bit like a thank you. They make Patrick feel warm and cozy, but it isn’t long before David’s pulling back to look at him happily.

“So,” Patrick tries, face teasing. “If you were to assign a letter grade—”

“Definitely ‘A,’” David shoots back immediately, nodding. “An ‘A,’ and a special note in the comment section of your report card that says ‘very fast learner as advertised.”

Patrick laughs, scandalized, and David looks so pleased with himself it’s dangerous. He’s also moving his hands, subtly making his way to the buttons of Patrick’s nicest shirt and undoing them like he thinks Patrick won’t notice. He does, of course he does, he tries to notice everything about David. “What are you doing?” he asks anyway, just to be annoying, grin in his voice as David runs his fingers lightly over Patrick’s chest until he reaches his shoulders, where he can push the shirt fully off.

David’s eyes are tracking all over his skin, glassy and gorgeous. “Nothing,” he murmurs into the quiet, even as Patrick untangles his arms from the shirt and David’s other hand moves to the front of his pants, feeling him through the fabric. Patrick’s eyes flutter shut, hips startling up a little against his will.

“Certainly feels like something,” he manages, even though his voice is already trembling all over the place.

“Mhm,” David says distractedly, moving his hand more purposefully now. Patrick lets out a needy sound. He doesn’t want to come in his pants, not in his car pulled off on the side of the road, but he already feels on edge just from making David come and the taste of him and he doesn’t know how he’s going to hold out.

“Can I—” David starts, then stops himself, looking up at Patrick’s face. “I want you in my mouth.”

His voice is so soft, so tentative, like he thinks Patrick might actually say no. Patrick shudders and his stomach drops. It feels like anticipation and want and desire. He nods before he can speak, emphatic. “God, David. Yeah.”

Then there’s a minute or two of awkward rearranging as they switch positions so Patrick is the one in the passenger seat. They grope around for the bar to send the seat back so there’s enough room for David to get on his knees, some unsexy wiggling as he gets his pants and underwear down. But finally they’re there, in the moment, and Patrick’s chest is heaving as he looks down at David, who’s taking him in his hand and looking up at him with hungry eyes.

“Patrick,” he whispers, like a reflex, like an exhale. Like there’s no follow up, like he’s saying it just to say it. Patrick is about to respond, but then David’s taking him in his mouth and he gasps like a gut punch, one hand flying to the window to steady himself, seeking something, anything, to hold on to.

He’s had blowjobs before, obviously. He doesn’t have any complaints; they’ve historically been one of his favorite ways to have sex, actually, because you can close your eyes and go off in your head and it’s acceptable. He could always come that way.

But a blowjob from David is… fuck. Something else. There’s a confidence to it that makes Patrick feel weak, and an enthusiasm too, like doing this is just as good for him as coming himself. He certainly seems to have a lot of practice, pulling out tricks Patrick’s never experienced, things that make him shake and cry out and beg.

“Please,” he’s whimpering, over and over again. He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it at first, the word falling off his lips as familiar as a prayer. “Please, David, please please please.”

He’s not sure if he’s imagining it but David seems to grin, stubble scraping beautifully against his skin as he tilts his head back, reaching for Patrick’s free hand with his own and threading their fingers together. He gives them a squeeze; it’s a firm, grounding touch, as if to ensure that Patrick doesn’t float away.

His orgasm builds slowly inside him, pleasure curling through his body and spreading from his center all the way to his toes. He’s very careful to keep his hips still, letting David have full control. Patrick follows, rolling with everything: when David tongues over the slit; when he takes him deep, when he slows down so much and teases so perfectly Patrick thinks he might cry.

At one point, David uses his grip on Patrick’s hand to move it to his head, and Patrick’s knotting his fingers in David’s dark hair and pulling on instinct. David moans, and his eyes flutter blissfully shut. The vibrations make Patrick feel like he’s going to shake apart right then and there, and then David’s reaching down to his still open jeans and shoving a hand in his boxers.

“Holy _fuck,_ ” Patrick gasps, head thrown back as a jolt of pure heat rushes through him. He can’t handle any of it: David’s mouth on his dick or the way he’s jerking himself off quick and desperate, and just the fact that he could come again? All too much. Patrick gives another tug and David whines, and Patrick can’t help it, his hips jump up, wanting more.

David moans like he likes that too, so Patrick does it again, albeit more controlled and deliberate this time. The car is rocking a little and the windows are fogged obscenely at this point, but it feels like they’re rushing toward something, pace approaching a fever pitch, the beautiful sensation riding through him coming to a head. “I’m gonna come,” he manages, voice rough and on-edge, but David just sucks harder, egging him on.

Patrick comes with sharp noise, squeezing his eyes shut tight for a moment and then forcing them open so he can watch David’s throat work as he swallows, takes it all. “Fuck, fuck,” he murmurs, and then David’s pulling off and resting his head against Patrick’s thigh, hand still moving on his own dick.

“Is this okay?” he gasps, all croaky and low. “Is this, is this—”

“It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen,” he replies, words coming out fast and honest, and then David is screwing his eyes shut and coming with a shocked cry too, like he hadn’t expected to so soon.

It takes them both a minute to catch their breath, blissed out as they are. But it’s nice, nothing but the soft sounds of their chests heaving, getting to watch the way each other’s smiles slide slowly back onto their faces. After a second, Patrick shifts, moving his hand from where it was braced on the window and smearing the glass messily. Something about the obviousness of it settles giddily in him, the cliche of it all—he and David just fucked in a car pulled over on a dirt road because neither of them could stand to wait another minute.

They pull themselves together slowly, quietly. It’s not regretful but Patrick does feel wistful that it’s over, the pure electricity of the moment gone now. He clambers back into the driver’s seat and manages to unearth some tissues from the center console, offering a few to David, who takes them with a slow, happy smirk. He rolls the windows down halfway to let the fresh night air in, and both of them sit sill, listening to the crickets chirp.

“So,” David murmurs, echoing the same tone Patrick used earlier. “That was—”

“Incredible,” Patrick finishes for him, and a startled breath of laughter bubbles out of David at the word.

“I was going to ask for a letter grade,” he corrects, leaning in a little and resting his chin on his hand, faux-serious.

Patrick feels a wide grin spread over his own face as he tips his head to the side to look at David. His mouth is tucked to the side, puckered, like he’s trying not to laugh, and Patrick feels such a rush of affection for him he doesn’t know what to do with it, where to put it. Surely it won’t fit inside him; it feels much too large.

“A+, definitely,” he says, because he likes what David’s face does when he’s unexpectedly sincere, like it needs a minute to rearrange and recompose after a moment of shock.

“Okay,” he says slowly after a moment. “But what does that correspond to, numerically?”

Patrick laughs now, a full one. “ _I_ didn’t get a numerical score.” He edges in a little bit closer. It wouldn’t take very much effort at all for one of them to lean in: their noses would be brushing and then they would be kissing and maybe Patrick could get his hand back in David’s hair, and—

“Well, I can’t help you if you don’t ask for one,” David replies archly, but there’s such a playfulness in his tone that Patrick decides to be the one to lean in, to kiss him soft and slow and polite. Perfect.

“One hundred and ten,” he murmurs against David’s lips, and feels, rather than sees, them tip up into a smile.

The drive back to the motel from there is a quiet one. They don’t say much, but David does reach over and squeeze Patrick’s knee at one point, already so easy and familiar. Patrick takes one hand off the wheel to hold his hand, taking a pause at every stop sign to glance down at it quickly, thrilled and in awe. He sees David watching him out of the corner of his eye, trying not to smile, and failing every step of the way.

//

2.

Patrick is purposefully not thinking too hard about the fact that this is his first weekend away with David. He sort of wishes it was completely for romantic reasons and didn’t have to be arranged around a craft fair at which they hope to connect with some new vendors, but that’s probably being silly.

He can’t help that he does feel a little silly. David told him he loved him two weeks ago and honestly, they’ve been in a kind of honeymoon phase ever since. Just the other day they were in the store, grinning at each other because of some dumb joke one of them had made, and Stevie had pretend-gagged so hard that a customer thought she was actually choking.

So it will be nice to have some time without an audience.

Patrick had even been excited for the _drive_ this morning, that’s how stupidly smitten he is. He hasn’t had that feeling in ages, reminds him of piling into the car to go see his grandparents. His mom would tell him to pack a bag to entertain himself for the four hour trip, and he’d bring whatever book he was reading at the time, plus two backups in case he finished one and wasn’t in the mood for the other. They’d get McDonald’s breakfast before getting on the highway, and he’d be so excited about everything that he’d talk his parents ears off, then became immediately disappointed when he realized he’d wasted an hour the trip already.

It’s such a specific, rare kind of giddiness, and he can’t remember the last time he felt it. Then again, it’s not the first time David has made him feel something he’d forgotten, and always so strongly.

He glances at David out of the corner of his eye. He looks so relaxed, gazing out the window as rolling hills and colorful trees whiz by outside. Patrick’s noticed that autumn is slowly creeping into the air lately, and he’s stupidly excited for it. He feels like a lovestruck teenager checking off another relationship milestone, thrilled that they made it to another season. They’ve already started changing out the store decorations, and the Schitt’s Creek annual fall festival is next weekend, and he’s been brainstorming some kind of event the store can throw with the other local businesses downtown where kids can trick or treat, and—

David leans forward, shifting in his seat and jolting Patrick out of his contemplation. “So where are we staying again?” he asks, face thoughtful.

Patrick clears his throat, tries to swim back to the present. “It’s a little bed and breakfast just outside of Pine Ridge.”

David’s face perks up. “Bed and breakfast?” he asks, tone pleased.

“I figured you deserved an upgrade from the motel,” Patrick offers, and David’s face goes kind of soft, and as much as Patrick loves that look, he can’t resist making a joke. “Please let me know immediately if it satisfies your impossibly high standards.”

“Well, no need to request that, it’s part of the package,” he says, something mischievous dancing in his eyes. “Where did you hear about it?”

Patrick stiffens a little. “Oh, um. One of my old college buddies got married here, actually.”

There’s a pause for a second before David says, “Oh,” in a tone that sounds decidedly neutral, like he has to try hard to achieve it. Patrick nods in response, hoping the conversation will move on but it doesn’t, stuck, and soon he’s pouring out details in a clumsy attempt to get the discussion back to its usual, harmless balance.

“It was really nice when we stayed there? They had really cute breakfast menus and trays they brought up to your room, and all the rooms had different little themes, and they also had _robes_ , which were ridiculously soft and they actually let you take them home, which, I don’t know quite how they afford to do that, but—”

“Mhm,” David replies, sounding kind of hollow, and Patrick wills himself to stop. “Was it… were you here with Rachel?” he asks, and then winces, and then straightens. They’ve gotten a lot better about talking about the hard stuff, but he knows David still has trouble bringing that kind of thing up.

He said something once, in an argument, about how he never wanted to push, and Patrick hasn’t forgotten it. He wishes David would, sometimes. He wishes David wasn’t afraid to ask for things, assert himself if when he needs. So moments like this when he can see him trying mean more to Patrick than David knows.

“No,” he says honestly, trying to toss the word into the air like a careless thing as he adjusts his hands on the wheel. “We were on a break then, I’m pretty sure.”

“Ah,” David said, and there’s still an edge of tension there but he has loosened a little bit, which is comforting. He fixes his gaze on his hands in his lap, critically examining his cuticles. “I guess I just thought… you know, wedding, you guys were engaged. So.”

There’s a beat and then Patrick says, “Yeah,” like he understands, because he does. He’s gotten to the point now when he can follow David’s train of thought most of the time. He’d say he’s in the high seventieth percentile right now, but he’s hoping to move up soon.

But David is still squirming a little in the passenger side, and Patrick wants to probe, wants to ask. However, he also knows David and knows that no good can come from just asking him outright: _hey David, what are your thoughts on marriage?_

“Is that correct?” he asks instead, which has become something of a game between them. They’ll be at dinner in Elmdale, and Patrick will lean in and ask “correct?” as he points to some guy’s shoes or someone smothering their salad in bleu cheese dressing, just to see David’s pinched, uncomfortable face as he gravely shakes his head.

David’s head pivots to face him full-on. “Sorry?”

Patrick smiles a little, because he’s pretty sure David heard him the first time. “A bed and breakfast wedding. In a little town in the middle of nowhere.”

“Mm,” he hums, nodding a little more confidently now. “Depends on how Instagram friendly it is, I guess. Were the trees out in full color? Were there string lights involved? What about a keg?” and Patrick can’t help but snort at that.

“Well, it was spring, so the trees had buds.” David gives an approving hum, nodding eagerly for Patrick to continue. “There were string lights, come to think of it. Definitely not a keg, Brandon’s parents own a winery so there were very deep, very fancy glasses.”

He sees his boyfriend soften at the details, the game melting away for a second as he imagines it. Patrick’s chest is doing something funny and light but also painful at the same time as he watches it happen.

“That sounds pretty correct,” he says finally, the words sounding a little bit wistful.

Patrick waits a moment or two before digging deeper. “How would you do it? Say the store expands to wedding planning.”

David seems to know what he’s maybe asking, because he twists his hands together in his lap and looks out the window again. “It would depend on the client,” he allows, the cheat, and Patrick’s not going to take that for an answer.

“Say _you’re_ the client,” he insists, and David turns back to look at him again.

It’s almost exasperated, so close to rolling his eyes, but also indulgent, and Patrick loves it. Falls a little bit harder for it every time. He clears his throat to hide it.

“Unless you’re not really the type to get married,” he adds, and now David blushes, looking shy but not unhappy at the question.

“Marriage itself doesn’t bother me,” he admits, twisting the cuffs of his sweater in his hands, which, wow, that must mean this is really a hard conversation for him, because David doesn’t usually treat designer knits that way. “It just feels… like a very high standard.”

The statement feels like something he’s said before, something practiced. Like he’s used to ending conversations with it. But Patrick always _always_ wants to know more, would burrow inside David if he could, just to get as deep as he can. “What do you mean?”

He sighs a little. “Just—so much has to go _right._ You have to find the right person, which is hard, and at the right time, which is even harder, then you have to want the same things, and then you have to grow together instead of apart, to make it.”

He’s resolutely not looking at Patrick and his voice is unwavering but there’s still something fragile in it. The words are well-expressed and clearly thought out, but don’t carry a lot of confidence, not the way his original declaration had.

“I mean… yeah,” Patrick admits, because David’s not wrong. “It’s a lot of variables.”

“The rom-coms don’t show that part,” David says with conviction, whipping his head around suddenly. “My parents have been married for decades. My dad loves my mom more than anything, is just as head over heels for her now as the day he met her, and she couldn’t lead a normal life without him. She barely leads one _with_ him. And there’s still been hard parts to their marriage, peaks and valleys and being defrauded by their business manager and—” he cuts himself off with a huff of breath, staring out at the road ahead, blinking furiously. He sounds a little bit frantic and Patrick’s instinct is to soothe him somehow, but there’s also a determination burning in him and he wants David to be able to say this, as much as he seems to want to.

“Variables,” Patrick says again, prompting, voice soft after a long minute, and David lets out a slow breath.

“Yes. Variables. And hard work and chance and all of it just seems like the perfect storm. And who gets to have that?” he asks, voice a little bit like a deflated balloon by this point.

Patrick tries very, very hard not to think, _Maybe I could give it to you, if you wanted it._

It doesn’t really work, but Patrick thinks that maybe it wasn’t ever going to. Because he’s the one who asked this question in the first place to see if David wanted it, and it seems like… it seems like maybe he does.

“What about you?” David asks, sounds exhausted, and somehow, Patrick is shocked as hell that David’s asking him back, actually startles at the words.

“I… yeah, it’s always something I pictured for myself, I guess.” The words aren’t coming out right but he can’t help that, just has to keep trying. His knuckles go a little whiter on the steering wheel. “It’s not like, I don’t know, I always pictured my wedding or anything. I just—I guess I liked—sports—” he cringes, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, shaking his head.

When he opens them again David is looking at him gleefully, like he couldn’t be more excited about how flustered Patrick is. “What does getting married have to do with liking sports?” he asks, voice teasing so much, and Patrick feels himself flush.

“I just mean—I like being on a team, I guess, and I think that’s what was hard for me, before? In relationships? Is that even though we were both trying we couldn’t—get on the same page about stuff.” David’s face softens a little as he listens, and Patrick feels less crazed, takes a deep breath.

“I think that’s what marriage is supposed to be, when it’s good. You’re on a team with someone for the rest of your life, to share the good stuff and support each other through the bad stuff,” he finally manages, feeling more exposed than he thought he would.

David’s face is a little bit pink, but he’s beaming at Patrick, even though his lips are pressed together tight. He nods, a frantic up and down that warms Patrick from the inside out. It’s quiet for a minute, and then the conversation moves on, but that little happy shake of the head sticks in Patrick’s throat.

They don’t have anywhere to be that night, so Patrick takes David to a nice dinner at a restaurant with cloth napkins and candlelit tables. David looks so, so pleased, and Patrick spends a lot of time thinking about how David thinks claims to be hard to love when in reality, he goes soft and tender for the smallest, most simple of gestures. He looks particularly overcome when they walk into their room that night: a king-sized mattress, soft sheets, a bathtub. He presses Patrick up against the wall and kisses him fiercely. Patrick wants to make a crack about how he just selected some options on a website and hit “book,” but thinks better of it.

“What should we try first?” he asks instead. “Do you want the bath, or the bed—”

“Just you,” David murmurs against his lips, and Patrick doesn’t know how he’s supposed to resist that as David pulls him along, both of them falling back against the sheets.

Patrick doesn’t particularly like the phrase, but there’s no other way to describe what they do that night besides making love. He rims David until he cries, then fingers him for “half an eternity,” according to David’s complaints, not letting him touch himself the whole time. When Patrick finally slides into him, David is already close and whimpering and seems to have misplaced every word in his vocabulary except Patrick’s name, gasping it over and over and over as Patrick thrusts into him. They come together, which is something Patrick used to only think happened in the movies, but it feels like a miracle and an inevitability, all at once.

The craft fair on Saturday goes well even if it is a blur; they make good connections with vendors and have a productive day. David begs for McDonald’s for dinner and Patrick caves, so they eat three orders of chicken nuggets (two of them David’s) and a staggering amount of fries in bed in their pajamas, exhausted from the day to the point of giddiness. They have stupid, incomprehensible conversations that make them collapse into ridiculous giggles more than once, until finally they can’t keep their eyes open anymore.

Patrick falls asleep thinking how nice it is to fall asleep with David not in a hotel bed or a rented room at Ray’s, but a place that feels like a home. It’s a sleepy, half-formed thought, but he feels it fiercely, and it knows it’s going to stick around. He’ll have to think about starting to make that happen sometime soon.

The only plan they have for Sunday is the drive back, but Patrick has a surprise. He takes an early exit and pulls into the Elm Valley Apple Orchard for their festival today, something one of the vendors at the fair yesterday tipped him off about.

“Oh!” David exclaims, surprised and sitting up straighter in his seat. Patrick watches his eyes take in the candy apples, apple bobbing, the reds and purples and oranges of the trees in bloom, the kids running around and screaming and the parents chasing after them, people holding wine glasses and taking pictures. He turns his head to look at Patrick and smiles, excited. “This looks fun.”

“It’s corny,” Patrick admits, clicking on his turn signal off and not making eye contact. “But I thought it’d be a nice way to end our first weekend away together.”

David goes flushed and does a tiny, overcome shake of his head, getting out of the car as soon as Patrick’s parked. He takes a deep breath of the fresh, fragrant fall air and bites his lip to keep from smiling too hard.

They drink spiked cider and sample the top contenders for the homemade apple pie contest, and David raves over the winner enough that they manage to snag her phone number for the store. They listen to the band playing for a few minutes, hanging back a little awkwardly on the side until David works up the courage to pull Patrick out onto the makeshift dance floor and sway, arms around his neck. After, they walk through the trees and David takes some artfully composed pictures for Instagram, and then makes Patrick take some he’s actually in, insisting that he make sure it doesn’t look too “posed.” Even though David is literally posing, as Patrick is sure to point out.

Their impromptu photo session gets interrupted by a scream that makes them both whip their heads around. Turns out it’s a proposal, and the guy on one knee stands up with the biggest grin to spin his new fiancée around in a hug.

When Patrick looks at David, there are little happy tears in his eyes and a surprisingly open smile on his face. He catches Patrick looking with his jaw slightly dropped and rolls his eyes, shaking his head while he wipes quickly at his cheeks.

“I wouldn’t usually cry at that,” he says defensively. “It’s just… everything.” His hands go flying up, gesturing at the entire picturesque setting around them.

Patrick gets it. Everything feels pretty damn perfect right now. So he nods, grinning, and hopes that maybe—just maybe—some part of David’s reaction stems from what they’d talked about in the car the other day.

“Come here,” he says, reaching for David and kissing him. David kisses him back, smiles at him delicately when they pull away, and some lovely passerby asks if they want a picture together. Patrick says yes before David gets a chance to answer, because he wants to remember the moment in screaming color: David’s eyes a bit red with tears and his arm around David’s waist and the sunshine and all of it. He wants it to be theirs to keep.

Eventually they do have to leave, and they both do so a little regretfully. They’ve been in a little bubble this weekend, and as much as Patrick loves the store and Schitt’s Creek, it’s hard to leave that to go back to a place where they have little to no privacy.

Patrick thinks they can both feel it. It’s the same Sunday night anxiety he got in the pit of his stomach his entire school career, and he thinks David must feel it too, because he’s quiet.

But when Patrick looks over, he sees David looking at his phone, one hand covering his smile unconsciously. He can tell anyway from the way his eyes are crinkled, the way the corner of his mouth tips up defiantly, just barely visible. He’s looking down at the picture the woman took of them, thumbing the screen when it dims to keep it lit up, and suddenly the regret that was heavy in Patrick second ago is gone. All he can feel in its place is love, and gratitude, and tomorrow he gets to walk into their store and be a team with David all day long, and he can’t fucking wait.

//

3.

Patrick has been watching David pace back and forth across the apartment in socked feet for the better part of an hour. He’s been drafting an email on his phone to their florist this whole time, even thought it’s 11 PM on a Friday night and Patrick had definitely hoped for other… activities, this evening.

Not that he’s complaining. Wedding planning is running them both ragged. It’s a dumb thing to complain about, but at times it feels like a second job for both of them, and it’s certainly not made easier by florists who claim to have never recieved the deposit check, even though it was cashed and cleared over a week ago. And he’s thankful to have a fiancé like David, who is more than capable of writing no-nonsense, strongly worded emails to rectify the situation, because if Patrick had tried to take care of this, he knows he would have tried to call and folded like a deck of cards at the first excuse.

(Even if he does insist that David run it by him before he sends the final version. Just to make sure they’re not burning any bridges past the point of no return.)

“Okay,” David finally says, flopping back down on the bed. He’s still holding his phone over his face, typing in Patrick’s email at the top. “I think it’s done.”

His head is by Patrick’s hip, and he reaches down to card his fingers through David’s hair. He’s always surprised by how soft it is. David lets out a long, tired sigh and Patrick knots his fingers, gives a quick tug just to watch the way David’s body relaxes. “Real keyed-up tonight, huh?” he asks.

David turns his head, pressing his face into the comforter and nodding. “Do that again?” he asks, so Patrick does, and David tilts his head back into it, mouth falling open beautifully on a soft whimper.

Patrick stops after a long moment, petting over where David’s hair is disheveled now, watching the tension in his muscles slowly seep out of his frame. “Everything’s just been a lot, lately,” he says. He’s using his overdramatic whiny voice, which Patrick knows is a trick, because David sometimes uses it to hide when he’s actually anxious, when it’s just the two of them. “All the wedding stuff, and the store has been so busy lately, which I know is good, but like. My mom’s still heartbroken about the _Crows_ movie and Alexis is gone, so I feel like that’s my responsibility too, you know?”

“Mhm,” Patrick hums. David moves his head, angling for Patrick to scratch at the base of his scalp, which he does.

“I just want to, like. Not think. For a bit,” David says, haltingly, and while there are definitely ways Patrick could make that happen, an idea washes over him, bright and perfect. He gets up and pads over to the doorway, pulling on his shoes.

David sits up on the bed. “What are you doing?”

“Come on,” Patrick says, grabbing the car keys and dropping them in the pocket of his joggers. “I know what will make you feel better.” He opens the door, not looking back to see if David follows.

He turns around halfway down the hallway to see David flustered, hopping slightly as he tries to pull on one shoe and lock the apartment door at the same time, and Patrick laughs, waits for him. David shoots him a dubious look when he catches up but Patrick grabs his hand, picking up the pace and pulling him along down the stairs. Soon they’re both laughing at nothing and it’s the middle of the night, the streetlights shining down on them in the parking lot in a way that feels like spotlights as they pile into the car, stupidly giddy and high on each other, contagious.

Patrick starts the car and pulls out into the night, headlights illuminating the long road out of town. He rolls the windows down and flips the radio on. There’s one pop hits station that mostly comes in fuzzy, but tonight it doesn’t seem to matter. They’re playing a [Taylor Swift song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuNIsY6JdUw), one of the more country-sounding ones that Patrick has heard plenty of times but couldn’t name to save his life. Still, he sings along at the top of his lungs, and after laughing at him for a moment David joins in, both of them screaming “ _all this time, how could you not know babyyyyy!_ ” into the darkness.

He’s driving a little too fast, probably, but there’s no one else out at this time of night and he can’t resist looking over at the way the wind is blowing through David’s hair, the unguarded grin on his face that makes Patrick ache with tenderness every time he sees it. It feels like a scene out of someone else’s life, like something from a teen movie where the protagonist realizes this is what love feels like for the first time. But it’s his future husband, looking so free and happy and beautiful as Taylor Swift sings _I'm the one who makes you laugh when you know you're 'bout to cry_. Too perfect, too on-the-nose. Patrick’s so happy to have this life.

David doesn’t ask where they’re going, but Patrick sees the exact moment his face lights up in recognition as Patrick turns off onto a familiar dirt road. After a moment they’re pulling up outside a quiet little 24 hour diner. It’s kind of a diamond in the rough. It’s 20 minutes outside of town in the opposite direction from everything else, so he’s not sure how it survives as a little mom and pop establishment. But they’d gone here on one of their first few dates and David had gotten these pancakes he gushed over, and now it’s a nice kind of treat for them, every once in a while.

There’s no one else there, but the waitress is sweet as always when Patrick asks for two orders of poutine and a chocolate milkshake with two straws. David’s cheeks bloom with color, like somehow this is intimate, and when she leaves he reaches for Patrick’s hand across the table and holds on tight.

The lights are too bright in here and the cook is telling a rather lewd story at a volume that carries, but [“Be My Baby”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZV5tgZlTEkQ) is playing over the speakers and soon there’s steaming fries smothered in gravy in front of them, and David groans happily as he shoves a bite into his mouth. Patrick feels like a winner.

“You cheated,” David says, when Patrick’s mouth is too full to protest. He makes an indignant sound anyway, shooting him quizzical eyes as David stabs another fry and tries to get a cheese curd to layer underneath it. His lips curl up in a mischievous smile. “You know there’s nothing poutine can’t fix.”

Patrick swallows hard, wiping at his mouth so he can grin without being gross. “Maybe I just know _you,_ David.”

David flushes again, pulling the milkshake closer and takes a loud sip, not meeting Patrick’s eyes but smirking all the same.

They’re piling back into the car when Patrick remembers, muttering a low “fuck” before rushing back inside, calling “Just a sec!” over his shoulder to a confused David. He has to sweet-talk the waitress into digging out a to-go box, but he emerges a few minutes later with a greasy bag containing two slices of maple pie, which he passes to David as he gets in the car.

“The poutine was _enough_ ,” David laughs, but he’s rooting around in the paper bag for the plastic forks anyway.

Patrick shakes his head. “Not for a really bad night,” he insists, turning to look over his shoulder as he reverses out, one hand moving smoothly on the wheel.

David presses his lips together, but the corners curl up regardless, like he can’t fight it. “It’s not a really bad night, anymore,” he admits, and then turns the radio back on again.

They don’t sing along on the drive back. They let the rush of the night air wash over them instead, and David reaches over to where Patrick is tapping along to the beat on his leg and laces their hands together over the center console. Patrick keeps his eyes on the road as much as he can, but all it takes is one look to see that David’s looking at him like he’s a marvel, something amazing.

Patrick shakes his head at him because it’s not all that, really. He just wants to make David feel better when he can, however he can, even if that means doing something stupid and being silly or overindulgent. But David’s eyes are bright with touched tears, and he has to clear his throat to make them go away, finally breaking Patrick’s gaze.

He kisses him soft and sweet in their bed later, in a way that wouldn’t lead to anything if David didn’t whisper “Please,” broken and wanting. So Patrick fucks him the way he begs for, careful and close and slow until there are tears leaking out of the corners of David’s eyes and they’re touching everywhere. Patrick comes with a cry muffled into David’s neck and David follows him over the edge, clinging to Patrick’s back like he could disappear any second, melt away if David wasn’t holding him.

He curls into him after, when they’ve cleaned up hastily with some tissues from the bedside table, moving with hungry touches in a desperate press of heat. “I love you,” he murmurs into the skin of Patrick’s shoulder, and Patrick gropes until he finds cold sensation of those four golden rings, running his fingers slowly over each one in answer before he falls asleep.

//

4.

When Patrick suggests going for a hike the second time, there isn’t nearly as much protest from David.

“Will there still be champagne?” he asks, teasing, and Patrick rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, I know it’s not a proposal, but I’m just saying. Now that I’ve had a picnic lunch with champagne, I’m not sure I can go back.”

Patrick pulls him in and kisses him, quick but fond across the register counter. “Maybe it’s my turn to be wooed. Guess you’re going to have to bring the champagne this time.”

David looks at him skeptically. “Mm, but if I was wooing you, would I really choose a hike?” he asks, and Patrick chuckles, even as David turns to straighten the moisturizers. “I’m just being realistic!” he calls over his shoulder.

It’s been a desperately hot summer, but Patrick figures it’ll be better if they leave in the afternoon, since that way David can sleep in and they can catch the evening glow at the top this time. The drive over is nice; David’s talking through the pictures he wants to get for Instagram and Patrick hums along, just happy to be in the moment. David’s dressed more sensibly for a hike this time, in a soft black t-shirt and what are most likely ungodly expensive sweatpants, and he’d kissed Patrick when he’d seen him in the same hoodie as last time, frantic enough to mess up his hair. He’d sighed as he’d pulled away. “I forgot what a good look this is on you,” he’d said by way of explanation, but there’s something in his eyes that tells Patrick that’s not exactly what he means. And that’s okay. He can read between the lines.

It is a little disconcerting that the skies seem to be getting more and more ominous the closer they get to their destination. Patrick taps his thumbs on the wheel nervously, because he’d checked the weather this morning and it had been bright and sunny all week. But by the time they turn off, dark, heavy clouds obscure the horizon.

As soon as they park, it’s like the heavens snap. Rain starts pouring down all at once, and they can see strikes of lightning in the distance.

David turns to him with an uncertain look on his face. “We could wait it out?”

Patrick clenches and unclenches his jaw. “Yeah, he says, the word tight. “Yeah, it wasn’t in the forecast so it’ll probably pass quickly.”

David nods eagerly, sitting back in the passenger seat carefully. They sit in silence for a good ten minutes, and the rain shows no sign of stopping. Patrick feels angrier by the minute because he just wanted things to go right this time, after that last crazy rollercoaster of a day. He wanted this to be easy.

He notices David doesn’t dare reach for the radio, drumming his fingers on the door instead, mouth scrunched to one side. He’s tense, it’s obvious, and Patrick feels like an asshole because god, how did he not learn this lesson the first time?

“Hey,” he says, waiting for David to turn and look at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so uptight. Especially about something we can’t control.”

“It’s fine,” David says, his shoulders coming down from around his ears, a small smile quirking his features. “We should have known we’d have bad luck here, really,” he says and Patrick laughs, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“God. Maybe I need to break up with Rattlesnake Point.”

“No!” David protests immediately, looking worried. His hand clasps at Patrick’s shoulder, giving it a familiar scratch, and then saying in a smaller, quieter voice. “It’s our spot.”

The words burrow into Patrick’s ribcage and settle themselves there. He feels a delicate smile breaking over his features that he couldn’t fight even if he wanted to.

When you grow up with someone, every spot is your spot, so he and Rachel didn’t really have one in particular. They never had a song, either. He loves that he gets to have both with David.

His soft thoughts are interrupted by the sound of David’s stomach growling. Patrick laughs, but David doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed, is steadfast instead. “Look, I don’t want to ruin the whole plan, but remember how whiny I was last time? It’s because I was starving. So how about we grab the backpacks and just snack a little in here while we wait for it to die down?”

It comes out more of a strong suggestion than a true question. “And by ‘we,” you mean—”

David leans in, pressing a quick kiss to Patrick’s lips, as if to soften the blow. “Love you, honey,” he trills, turning back to his phone, and Patrick takes that as his cue to get out of the car and jog around to the trunk.

He’s soaked when he climbs in again, but it’s quickly forgotten since David is pulling out the champagne and little plastic cups. Patrick digs around for the crackers, cheeses, and silverware. There’s no signal up here for the radio, but Patrick’s still surprised when David pops in the one CD Patrick keeps in his car—a Dolly Parton “best of” mix from his mom. David’s ribbed him about it before, and in return, heard Patrick’s rant about her songwriting ability more times than he can count. The volume’s on low, but it still makes a good accompaniment for the pelting of the rain on the roof. David raves about the goat cheese and pepper jelly combo, enthusiastic enough it makes Patrick laugh and tease him fondly.

A pair of joggers trudge off the trail just then and see their camped out picnic in the car through the windows, shooting them a strange look. From Patrick’s point of view, they look pretty miserable, sour faces and teeth chattering and wringing excess water from their jackets. Then he feels bad for thinking it. He and David probably would be too, if their roles were reversed.

“Can you believe they’re looking at us like _we’re_ crazy?” David says, and Patrick can’t help but turn to him and grin. David’s spreading more cheese on a cracker and, thankfully, doesn’t notice the way Patrick is looking at him so fondly he feels like his face might break.

_Together we belong like daffodils and butterflies,_ [Dolly sings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YrxXHvqSWgg), and Patrick thinks it’s true. David is bright and glowing yellow as the sun, and Patrick is drawn to him helplessly.

Rays of light break through and the rain slows to a stop right when they’ve finished all the food, which is just how these things tend to go. David’s face lights up like magic, clapping his hands excitedly against his thighs. “Let’s go!” he says, rushing out of the car, fast enough that Patrick has to scramble to follow. “You know, this kind of worked out, we don’t have to lug those heavy backpacks. Maybe we should do it this way every time?” he asks, and Patrick warms inside, thinking of _every time_ and _our spot_ and loving David so, so much.

They make it a good half hour before it all starts pouring down again. It’s one of those strange showers—Patrick’s grandmother used to call it pineapple rain—where the sun is out and proud but it doesn’t keep it from being a complete downpour.

The drop of disappointment in Patrick’s stomach is cut off when he hears a laugh. He turns around to see David, smiling so hard his eyes are all crinkly. When he catches Patrick’s gaze, he shakes his head and throws his hands up, and Patrick feels amusement bubble up inside himself too, because honestly, Rattlesnake Point must be a vortex of bad luck for them at this point or something.

Then again, maybe not. Because right now he’s watching David close his eyes and tip his chin up to the sky, palms still open, relaxing into it. Droplets gather on his lashes and run down his temples and neck, hair going wet and floppy but he’s still smiling, just drinking in the moment. Patrick fumbles for his phone in his pocket as he hurriedly gets a picture, stashing it back right before David can open his eyes and notice. It’s not the posed, sunny shots David had planned on the way over. It’s better.

David blinks his eyes open, flushing a little when he sees Patrick looking at him. “I think we just have to give in!” he shouts over the din, words coming out half a laugh, and it hits Patrick how… proud, how deeply proud he is of David. Because every single time when the chips are down and Patrick doesn’t think he can take it anymore, David surprises him.

He moves decisively, closing the three steps that separate them and winding an arm around David’s waist, tilting his head up to kiss him. It feels like the way David had kissed him just before he’d said “I love you” for the first time: with surety and gratitude and contentment. The rain is still falling but Patrick doesn’t even feel it. When he pulls away, all he can see is the love of his life, smiling delicately with lashes clumped together and rivulets of water streaming down his face, beaming at him the way only David can do.

They turn around and start heading back to the car at a clipped pace because Patrick’s afraid if they run, one of them is bound to trip and fall. He also insists on holding hands the whole way just to make sure they can catch each other just in case someone slips. David tries to salvage his hair right as they get back to the head of the trail, and Patrick laughs at him, so fucking fond, and David looks pink and pleased. They pile into the car and turn the heat on full blast, breathing heavily for a minute before David tips his head on the headrest to face him.

“Next time,” he promises, the words coming out positive, easy.

Patrick nods back. “We’ll try again,” he agrees, moving to start the car with a small smile, and means it in his very core.

They have their whole lives, and Patrick really doesn’t mind if part of that is a growing collection of false starts at Rattlesnake Point. They can keep trying as long as David wants.

//

5.

The house has a big bay window at the front, and from the second they pull up to the curb, Patrick knows it’s theirs.

Ray had bustled over to them before they’d even gotten out of the car, so he hadn’t gotten a chance to see David’s face unguarded. But he makes a point to sneak little glances at him during the tour, and he thinks it’s promising. He smiles a little in the kitchen, eyeing the marble countertops. He runs his fingertips lightly over the mantle of the fireplace, careful. He tips his chin up to see the skylight in the master bathroom, and Patrick takes a mental picture.

They end the tour in the living room, in front of that big bay window. David’s asking about square footage and wiggle room on the asking price, but Patrick’s basically already sold, just… imagining. He can practically see himself putting down boxes right there, catching David’s hand and pulling him in to kiss, simultaneously in their own little world and in front of the whole town.

He used to do that a lot, before they started dating. He’d imagine what it would be like to tell David how he felt, the expressions that would flash over his face. The night they opened, he’d gone to bed dreaming about what could have happened if the lights hadn’t flicked, if he could have pulled away just enough to press in and kiss him. He’d imagined David in his bed for a long time before he got that, wondering if he snored or how messy his hair got and the way he might look sleep rumpled in the light of dawn, smiling at Patrick across the pillows, waking up slowly.

He doesn’t imagine much anymore. He doesn’t have to. More often that not, these glimpses of moments he wants, he can just… have. There’s nothing stopping him from pulling David in to kiss him whenever he wants. The feeling of David’s hand in his own is a warm and familiar knowledge now, imprinted into his skin.

“I think it’s a great fit for you both, honestly,” Ray says, like he can barely contain himself. “And I’m not just saying that because I would get a _very_ good commission.”

It snaps Patrick back to reality, and he looks at David, who is nodding, his face unreadable and his lips pressed lightly together. Patrick’s not sure what that means—it doesn’t have _everything_ on their checklist but it’s the first place they’ve looked he could see them in. He can picture it so clearly.

“Thank you, Ray,” Patrick says after another moment of silence as David looks around. “We should talk about it, but we’ll call and let you know.”

“Perfect,” Ray gushes, already herding them over to the door. “Let me give you my business card—oh and here, here’s the one for my personal cell too—” and unloads four different cards into David’s hands, even though they’ve known each other for years and Ray’s contact is already in both their phones.

David is quiet once they’re back in the car. He’s staring out the window and has his thumb pressed against his lips. Patrick knows he used to bite his nails when he was a younger, a habit he’s long since given up, but the impulse still floats to the surface sometimes.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, glancing away from the road for a second to watch David’s mouth twist to the side.

His husband hums. “It’s pretty perfect,” he says, but he doesn’t sound excited about it the way Patrick wanted him to be. He sounds… kind of gloomy about it, actually.

Patrick takes a breath, readjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “Okay,” he tries, “so why do you sound like you do at the end of _Titanic_?”

David chuckles a little, but it’s halfhearted. He stretches out in the passenger seat, and sometimes Patrick swears he can see the words forming in David’s head, arranging and rearranging. He clears his throat.

“I’m not good at moving,” he says, his voice quiet. “I don’t—I don’t know. Have a good history with it.”

It seems like a fairly innocuous statement, but between the way David’s holding himself and the way his eyes are skipping around on the landscape out the window, Patrick can tell it means more than he’s saying. He can be quiet, though. He tries to be patient with David, tries to wait him out when he needs, even when everything in him wants to just take away the hurt and the hard stuff and make it easy.

“I lived on my own in New York and it never. It was never home, it was just a place where I was alone. No matter who else was there.” His voice is uncharacteristically serious, and right now Patrick hates it. He loves it other times—when David is talking about something important with the store or their relationship, but when he’s talking about things in his past like this, Patrick hates it.

“And then we moved into the motel, and it was… okay, not only was it a lot more grim before Stevie and my dad started to fix it up, but all I remember from when we first got there was like. Having panic attacks in the bathroom and not being able to sleep and feeling too close to my family, like, everything was so loud all the time and I couldn’t breathe.”

Patrick lets the words hang in the air for a second before responding. “But you moved in with me,” he says, trying to sound as reasonable and even keel as possible. All he’s ever wanted to be for David is a soft place to land.

The corners of his mouth tip up a little in response, which is something. A tiny bit of progress. “You already lived there, so it wasn’t—it wasn’t a blank slate in the same way.”

Patrick nods. One thing he’s learned about loving David, about being married to him, is that it’s not always about trying to fix the problems. Sometimes it’s just about listening to the worries, about taking these thoughts David trusts him with in his gentle hands and helping to hold onto them. To help lighten the load.

“So it’s… the bigness of it? That’s worrying you?” he asks, and David nods, finally turns to face him fully.

“It’s a huge undertaking! It’s such a big decision and like, what if we’re too far away from the store? What if we buy the house and then something bad happens, like we need a new roof and it’s a strain on financials and then what are we going to do?” The words come out all in a rush, and it takes him a second to catch his breath afterwards, flopping back against his seat again. He exhales, and Patrick wants to reach for him so badly. He wants to hold David’s hand, but they’re all twisted up in his lap. He’s wringing them anxiously, moving too fast.

Patrick wracks his brain for something concrete to offer, something solid that could maybe pull David back down to earth. It takes a second, but he gets there.

“I tested the drive.”

David whips his head around to look at him as he turns onto the main road. “What?”

“I tested the drive already,” Patrick repeats, steadfastly looking ahead. “From the new house to the store. It’s an eight minute drive.”

David’s jaw drops slightly. Patrick can see it in his periphery, the way his face goes slack and then his mouth closes, the way he starts to fight a smile. “You did.” The tone of his voice is, just—so _warm_ now, it’s practically golden. As if he expects nothing less, as if he’s really saying, in the fondest way possible, _of course you did._

“Where we live now is a three minute drive,” Patrick says, unable to resist sneaking a quick look as he pulls into the lot in front of their apartment complex. “Just in case you were, you know. Wondering.”

David bites his lip, eyes bright as Patrick pulls into a spot and parks. He’s quiet now, but not the bad kind. A happy, contented quiet. His hands are still in his lap. “Okay,” he murmurs.

“I thought I should know ahead of time. That way we can work back to the absolute latest time you have to get out of bed to make it there in time to open,” he teases, and now David rolls his eyes without heat, such a familiar and welcome sight.

“Okay,” David says again, in a long-suffering tone this time, and unbuckles his seatbelt and starts to move for the door as soon as Patrick takes the keys out of the ignition.

“Hey,” he says, not quite knowing what he’s doing, just reaching forward and resting a hand on David’s knee. David stops, turning back to face him, a confused expression melting into a gentle smirk before Patrick’s eyes.

“What?” he asks, and Patrick feels frozen, doesn’t know for sure what he’s doing until he’s moving in and getting a hand on the back of David’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

It’s a soft, slow, tender thing, so much like the first one they shared but in reverse, with Patrick taking the lead. He feels David melt into it the same way he himself had, all that time ago, and feels a curl of warmth inside him in response. It’s familiar and protective and desperate, all at once, always.

After a moment, he pulls away. They stay together for a second, enough that he can feel the hitch in David’s breath, see up close the way his face transforms from dazed to delighted.

“Um,” he says as Patrick retreats, a small little breath of sound. “What was that for?”

Patrick shrugs, blushing a little bit and shaking his head. “I don’t know, I was just thinking about. Um. How far we’ve come, I guess.”

The edges of David’s smile soften from something outright into something more private. He loves when David looks at him like this. He could play a highlight reel in his head of all the times David’s looked at him this way—the careful smiles they used to shoot each other across the store before they started dating, David’s face across the pillow after the first time they slept together, the way he’d looked at him in a rare, still moment of their wedding reception when everything else seemed to fade away.

He thinks of coming out to David in this same car a couple years ago, after he’d been kissed, and how in the moment, it felt like something that would dissolve as soon as he drove away. Marvelling at how talking about it here was so much easier, and why was that? Was it the darkness or the insulated quiet or the way David was looking at him?

It isn’t that he doesn’t feel like that person still, exactly, because he does. But he feels… different. Moved. Changed.

“It’s not _that_ far, it’s going to be an eight minute drive instead of a three minute drive,” David repeats back, teasing, pulling him back into the present, and Patrick laughs softly, reaches across the console to thread their fingers together.

“You’re right,” Patrick agrees, voice soft, looking down at their hands. He watches David stroke carefully over Patrick’s wedding ring, almost unconscious. His heart aches in the best way.

They sit in the quiet for another moment before David breaks the silence. “I guess we should probably put in an offer, then,” he murmurs, and when Patrick looks at him he looks relaxed. Relaxed and content and a little bit brave.

“Yeah?” he asks, unable to disguise the hopefulness there.

“Yeah,” David agrees, nodding, just as quiet. Then his face goes teasing, all at once. “But should we have Ronnie walk through it first? Just to formulate a game plan for the closets?”

Patrick shakes his head and clenches his teeth together to keep from laughing, moving to unbuckle his seatbelt and open the car door. “You’re unbelievable,” he chuckles, and David grins, following suit. David speeds up to catch him as he heads for the apartment building, grabbing Patrick’s hand and crowding him up against the brick to kiss him, a little bit sloppy and happy and unexpected. He thumbs over David’s cheekbone as he pulls away, and thinks about how soon, he’ll get this smile in their brand new driveway, in a new kitchen, bathed in new, golden evening light on what will soon be their new porch. “Unbelievable,” he murmurs again, memorizing the way David’s eyes shine at the word.

//

+1.

Patrick doesn’t know why he insisted on driving David back to the motel—other than all the obvious reasons: it’s dark, it’s late, it’s a fifteen minute walk, and he wants to spend as much time with David as he can. He hopes the last one isn’t _too_ obvious.

But he feels strangely brave. He’s looking at David a little longer, a little more obviously than he would usually allow himself. He’s saying things he shouldn’t, he’s teasing too much, but David’s teasing back and then Patrick feels just… caught, in his gaze, in the smile he’s trying to hide, in the hush of the night air and David seems caught too, nodding and nodding until—

Until he’s not, until Patrick’s eyes flick down to David’s lips and then he’s moving in, it happens so fast that Patrick can’t memorize all the details like he wants, but he is being kissed. Certainly and undoubtedly and confidently, but carefully, and when David pulls away the tilt of his mouth is beautiful.

Patrick watches him duck his head and has to look away for a second, feels his slack, surprised expression turn into something else, something… happy. He feels really fucking happy.

David’s squirming in the seat next to him, clearly nervous, so Patrick says, “Thank you,” without even thinking about it.

David face does the closest thing Patrick’s ever seen to a grin, but he’s still now, and his eyes are so bright and sparkling with… something, fondness maybe, and then he says, “For what?”

Something swells in his chest. “Um—I’ve never done that before. With a guy. So.”

He isn’t sure how to continue. He doesn’t want to know what to do with his face, either, so he’s looking at David and then looking away and trying not to seem like a complete idiot, jesus, one kiss and he’s lost all his composure. But god, it felt really fucking good to say that out loud. He likes the way he felt, saying that.

“Okay,” David stammers back, patient, because David is a good person and he wants to be what Patrick needs in this moment. Maybe he thinks he needs a hand to hold or a shoulder to cry on, but that’s not what he wants. He just wants more of David, so he plows on before the conversation changes course.

“Yeah. And, uh. I was getting a little scared that I was gonna let you—leave here, without us having done that, so. Thank you. For… um. Making that happen for us.”

It’s blisteringly honest. He knows David is allergic to honesty at the best of times, and it’s not that he thinks David will run screaming the other way, exactly, but he doesn’t think it’ll make him particularly comfortable.

How could he have predicted the pleased look on David’s face, the slow blink, the little flicker of pride? David is, fuck, so fucking generous about the things that matter, and Patrick feels so close to him here, now. He’d felt nervous and unsure of himself at the cafe, especially with a surprise guest appearance from Stevie, but here and now? He feels like he could tell David anything.

“Well, um. Fortunately, I’m a very generous person,” David says, joking but echoing Patrick’s real thoughts, and he huffs out a laugh. He’s maybe coming back down to earth now. Slowly. He’s not sure he wants an ETA for when his feet will touch the ground again.

“Can we talk tomorrow?” he asks, voice breaking a little bit, which is a silly question. He’s going to see David at the store tomorrow, it’s a given that they’ll talk, but he wants David to know what he means. He wants David to know what he’s asking, _can we talk about this._ And _I really want this, I want you to know how much I want this._

David says yes, and he’s sincere, which is a really attractive look on him, and then he’s making a joke about being a morning person and Patrick doesn’t want the moment to end, says “Goodnight, David,” just because he wants to taste his name in his mouth one more time tonight. David leans in and gives him the softest goodbye back, and then it’s over.

Patrick watches him open the motel room door and slip inside, letting out a long exhale. He counts to ten, allows himself ten whole seconds to squeeze his eyes shut and for his heartbeat to run away before pulling himself together to reverse out of the parking lot.

It’s ten minutes back to Ray’s. You can drive through the entirety of town in a little over twenty minutes. Patrick’s done it before; in fact, he’s done it enough times that every road through Schitt’s Creek feels familiar to him now. He could navigate it in his sleep.

But tonight it’s all he can do to focus on the headlights cutting through the night. He keeps tightening his hands on the steering wheel, then reminding himself to relax, though it doesn’t last long before his knuckles are going white on the leather again. He fiddles with the air conditioning, making it warmer to combat the goosebumps on his skin, turning it up, turning it back down again. Flips on the radio, listens to thirty seconds of the bluegrass station, which is the only one that really gets good reception around here. He turns it off after [hearing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L5tXYiAj-1I) _”I don’t hardly know you but I’d be willing to show you, I know a way to make you smile…”_ He takes another deep breath, then another.

Finally he’s pulling into Ray’s driveway, turning the key in the ignition and clicking off the headlights. He tilts his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes again. With no distractions now, he’s pretty sure he can still feel his skin tingling where David’s fingers had been, the secret curve of the back of his neck, the shell of his ear where David had brushed, briefly. He touches his lips lightly, just for a second, touches where David’s lips had pressed against his, soft but sure.

He knows he can’t stay out here much longer or else Ray will come bustling out, asking him a million questions about how his evening was and why he’s sitting out in his car in the dark, and Patrick really doesn’t want that. He just wants to feel the sparkling anticipation inside him, the way his skin feels electric after touching David, like it could light up.

When he closes his eyes, all he can see is David’s face, the delicate smile on it when he’d pulled away, new and different than he’d ever seen before. And all he can think, over and over again, is _It’s starting._

David Rose just kissed him in his car on a quiet Friday night, and he feels like his life is finally starting.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! As always, you can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wardowedidit), and together we can flail about how these two are gonna get married.


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